Bridge Over Troubled Water
by Celtic Knot
Summary: John offers Teyla some comfort. Inspired by an incidental prop in 'Conversion'.


**Bridge Over Troubled Water**

It was a warm night, and the windows of Atlantis were open to the sea breeze. Teyla breathed deeply as she walked, savoring the fresh air, trying to relax.

She was quite irritated with herself. Ever since the rest of the Athosians had left for the mainland, she had felt like – how did Dr. Weir say it? The odd one out. She knew perfectly well that it would take time for her to learn the customs, the traditions, and the idiom of the people of Earth – the kinsfolk of the Athosians by common Ancestors. Nobody gave a thought to the fact that she hailed from an alien planet; she had been accepted as a member of the team. And yet, she still sometimes felt like an outsider. Tonight she had lain awake past midnight, cursing her irrational fears, until she had finally decided to go for a walk to clear her head.

As she approached one of the balconies, she was surprised to hear music. Some kind of stringed instrument… it took her a moment to recognize the sound as that of a guitar. The door opened silently at her touch, revealing John Sheppard perched on the railing, staring out over the boundless ocean and strumming an achingly beautiful melody. The piece cadenced and ended while Teyla listened, and she found there were tears in her eyes. "That was lovely," she said softly.

Startled, John whirled around to face her, losing his balance in the process and nearly falling off the balcony. "T-Teyla," he stammered when he had steadied himself. "I didn't know you were here."

"I'm sorry I frightened you," Teyla said. Gesturing to his guitar, she explained, "I had no idea you were a musician."

Sheppard looked down at the instrument as if just now noticing it was there. Was it Teyla's imagination, or did he seem embarrassed? "Oh, um, not really. It's just a hobby."

Teyla sat beside him on the railing. "You play very well. What was that piece?"

"_Across the Stars_?It's from a movie back on Earth – the love theme from… _Attack of the Clones_!" He grinned at the incongruity as he bean to lay the guitar aside.

Teyla raised her eyebrows and gestured to the instrument once more. "I didn't mean to interrupt; please, continue."

John hesitated. "I've never actually performed for anyone before."

"If you want me to leave–"

"No, no, no, stay, please." He slipped the strap back over his shoulder, and after a moment's thought, he put the pick between his teeth and said around it, "This one's called _Anji_." The tune was in a different style than _Across the Stars, _more complex – if she closed her eyes, Teyla could almost imagine there were two people playing.

"That was… impressive," she said when he finished. "Did you write it?"

John shook his head. "Nope. It's actually about thirty, forty years old. I ripped it off a Simon & Garfunkel CD."

"Mm." There was a moment's silence, then Teyla asked suddenly, "Can you sing?"

"Sure," John replied. "Anyone can sing."

When no further response was forthcoming, Teyla pressed, _"Do _you sing?"

"No," Sheppard said, a bit too quickly.

"Why do you not, if you can?"

"I said I can sing – but I never said I can sing _well."_

Teyla shrugged. "I am not a musician, John. I would not know good singing from bad." It was only a half-truth. Music was not her profession, nor even her hobby, but she had indeed had some training. But John seemed to need the encouragement.

Why, though, was she trying to bolster someone else's confidence at a time when she had none of her own?

Much to her surprise, however, it seemed to be working. John had the pick ready in his hand once more, and was strumming a soft introduction. "I think you'll like this one." He seemed… younger somehow, more vulnerable, as the music flowed from his fingertips – and finally poured forth from his mouth.

"_When you're weary,_

_Feelin' small,_

_When tears are in your eyes,_

_I'll dry them all."_

Teyla didn't know what she had expected to hear, but it certainly wasn't the clear, haunting tenor that now caressed her ears. One of the first things she had noticed about him was how compelling his speaking voice was; when he sang, it put his guitar to shame.

He didn't look at her. As he sang, he stared out to sea, and during the interludes, he focused on his right hand as it slid up and down the neck of the instrument to create the chords.

Teyla found herself fascinated by his hands. They were so deft, so sure… she wondered dimly if he had perhaps missed his true calling. Then she was swept away, and nothing existed for her except his voice and his hands.

"_Sail on, silver girl,_

_Sail on by._

_Your time has come to shine_

_All your dreams are on their way."_

There was no strain in the high notes, only a painfully sweet, unidentifiable emotion. He was staring at her, now.

The music soared into a breathtaking crescendo:

"_See how they shine,_

_Oh, if you need a friend,_

_I'm sailing right behind!_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will ease your mind…"_

Teyla suddenly understood why John had chosen this song to play for her. He knew what had her up at this hour – and was trying to do for her what she had done for him.

The last chord ebbed away into silence, the music having said what no amount of conversation could. Teyla took a deep breath, stood, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you," she said, and left to return to her quarters. She would rest easily now.

The last few bars of _Across the Stars _followed her down the corridor.


End file.
